her hands probably shook when she
lifted her lightweight life belongings up
onto the shoulder not carrying a
shivering child, who hasn't eaten since- since.
the trail of feet moves like a slow centipede.
eyes down, keep walking, don't look up,
his instruction is her rosary across the night.
a dog howls in the distance. more join in.
her chant is frenzily feeding her.
walk fast, walk silently. don't look back.
her shoulders grow heavier. she's forgotten
what she'd packed in the last bag she left.
the child stirs. still cold. very.
a decimated people will gather around a fire
tomorrow, trying to rub life into blued limbs.
(i used to be a nurse, a woman with silvery cataracts offers.)
none of them ever learn each other's name.
A few days later, the radio announces
Between news of a new film release and another minister frolicking in another country
A landmine attack. A couple dozen casualties. Refugees. The unwanted. The unseen.
Their anguish, undeserving of our benevolent generosity, carpeted in a bed of Riverside mud and shrapnel.
If there'd be a God in the sky that night,
He'd probably dim the stars down.
Even the skies know how to mourn-
Even when they mourn the living.
